


winter wonderland

by divinetock3



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance, this could not be softer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinetock3/pseuds/divinetock3
Summary: peter is too scared to ask out one of his good friends, because she could never like him back, right?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	winter wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> song(s): pretty paper by roy orbison, have yourself a merry little christmas by frank sinatra   
> it has BEEN a minute. it’s been a tumultuous time so i hope all of you and your friends and family are taking care of yourselves <333 i celebrate christmas and it’s my favorite time of the year so i figured i’d write a little something. no matter what u celebrate, i wish it’s a good time and helps you de-stress from the chaos :-) love all of u, i’ve missed u

The tree at Rockefeller Center glitters and shines in the snowy night. Peter feels the chill prickling beneath his suit, making him shiver and curl inward as he swings himself onto a lamppost. He stares down at the crowd as they ice skate and laugh, music playing from invisible speakers. 

There is a particular joy Christmas produces. He thought maybe growing up would lessen the innocent, pure love, tainted by adulthood, but if anything it brings him back more vividly to those mornings with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, opening presents and sipping cocoa in his pajamas, hair sleep-ruffled, playing his new games and tinkering with new equipment for the rest of the day. A snowman in the front yard, Christmas movies on TV, music on the scratchy radio, the tree blinking rainbows like a beacon—it’s a dream.

He yearns for childhood, but he can’t deny that moving to the City has made Christmas worse. It doesn’t do to dwell on what once was—no matter how much he wishes he could tell Uncle Ben about everything that’s happened since he passed. _I worked with Tony Stark! I’ve saved the world! Are you proud of me? Am I growing up to be the man you wanted me to be? Have I disappointed you yet?_ Deep down he knows he hasn’t failed, but sometimes he still needs to hear it. Of course the one person he needs to hear it from is gone. That’s how it always seems to work, huh?

Regardless, winter in New York City is undoubtedly the second most beautiful thing Peter has ever laid his eyes on. (He won’t admit to himself what the first is.)

He lets his legs hang over the side of the post and just watches. A pair of toddler twins clasp hands with their mother and giggle as she steadies them, knit beanies pulled low over their brow. A teen girl smoothly spins about, making it look easy, wanting to indulge but too self-conscious to show off in front of such a crowd. A group of friends trip over themselves and pull the others down with them as their laughter echoes. 

It’s the young couple, though, that draw Peter’s attention most. The way their arms wrap around waists with little thought, heads leaned close, sharing a private talk. The girl smiles, and the boy kisses her cheek. As if he just can’t help himself. 

Peter swallows a lump in his throat. He suddenly decides he’s tired and casts a web to the closest building and hauls himself home. 

———

“Do you wanna meet up and play some Magic at the coffee shop tonight? We were all gonna get there by six.”

Ned came over to continue on their Millenium Falcon Lego set, and they’ve been listening to music and building in silence for the past couple hours, chatting every now and then. Peter appreciates having a friend he doesn’t feel the need to fill silences with; he and Ned can coexist with no anxiety. That’s how he knows they’re best friends. 

“Maybe”, says Peter, eyes unfocused and head elsewhere. “Maybe not, actually. I’ve got, um—“

“You can’t use homework as an excuse anymore, Peter. Winter break, remember?”

Peter snorts. “Right. Sorry.”

“You can just say no, y’know. I won’t be mad. Sometimes people want to just be left alone. Crazy, I know. Can’t believe it.”

“Funny, Ned.”

“What’s up with you?”

A lame, one-shoulder shrug that doesn’t even convince himself. “Just...nothing.”

“Spidey stuff?”

“No,” says Peter too quickly. Damn, that would’ve been a valid excuse. When is he ever not stressed about Spidey stuff?

But the moment has passed and gone, and so Ned presses: “What is it, then? You can tell me.”

“I know I can. It’s nothing against you, I’m just...daydreaming.”

“Well, obviously. You’ve barely touched your side of the wing.”

Peter has a habit of letting his thoughts consume him. He can’t seem to push them aside for later. If something is bugging him, it takes over, makes itself known. He sees it as a fault. 

“This wouldn’t happen to be about you know who, would it?”

Peter flinches. Damn Ned for knowing him so well. “No.” Too quick, again. He needs to learn how to become a better actor. 

Ned snorts. “Sure. Y’know she likes you back, right?”

Reflexively, Peter’s heart surges up like a rushing wave, and he shuts it down. To Ned he says, “Please don’t say that ever again.”

“Why? Isn’t that what you want to hear?”

Quite the opposite. “No, I want to hear that she finds me gross and repulsive. It keeps me from getting my hopes up.”

“That’s…sad.”

“Well.”

“Sorry, it’s just...what’s the point if you’re not gonna shoot for the stars?”

Peter arches an eyebrow. 

Ned winces. “Sorry, I know: too middle school guidance counselor. But seriously, Pete. Last year was probably the worst year of everyone’s lives, and after all of that you’re gonna let asking a friend out on a date be what makes you cower?”

A heavy silence passes. Ned continues on picking through pieces as if he hasn’t just inspired Peter and made him feel like the biggest fool all in one sentence. 

“Well, when you put it like that.”

———

“It’s so nice out.”

Usually Peter would be suppressing a chill, but he’s been sweaty and rubbing his clammy palms on his pants all day. The sun is just about to disappear for the night and he and [Name] are tying their skates. She runs a tongue over her bottom lip and bites on it as she twines the laces around her fingers and Peter forces his eyes away. He fumbles the laces twice before getting them right. Just because he made the leap doesn’t mean he still isn’t nervous as hell.

Peter remembers she had just said something to him. “Yeah.” Nice one. “It is,” he adds, as if it helps. 

“I haven’t skated here since I was little. With my parents. My mom used to get mad that my dad was so good at it.”

Peter smiles. Perhaps it’s because he never truly knew his own, but he loves hearing about others’ parents and families. That small glimmer of something he never had. But he can’t even be sad about it, not when he was blessed with May and Ben. He’s learned from a young age to be grateful for what he _does_ have. 

Roy Orbison is singing about pretty paper while Peter tries standing up, teetering side to side. Laughing, [Name] grips his shoulder to steady him as she stands, wobbling a little, but undoubtedly better at this than him. He can do flips and hold himself up for however long, but God forbid he stand in ice skates. 

“You good, kiddo?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” Peter says as his hands shake. He squeezes them into fists. “Let’s, uh, get on the ice.”

It’s…difficult, to say the least. He grips the railing like it is a lone boat in the middle of the ocean. She laughs not unkindly and helps him straighten up. He knows if he fell he’d right himself in an instant, but he really doesn’t want her questioning why his reflexes are so spot-on. 

She’s rusty, but certainly not as much as him. Within minutes she’s abandoned the railing and is gripping his hand, urging him to lean on her and let her lead. It isn’t helping with Peter’s nerves in the slightest, but he doesn’t want her to let go of his hand either. 

“You’re getting the hang of it,” she says, her pretty lips spreading into an even prettier smile. Dangerous. 

“Slowly but surely. I’m stubborn.”

She laughs. It’s even more dangerous, twists his guts and makes him protective: _I’ll work the rest of my life to get another laugh out of her if I have to_. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re good at this.”

She shrugs offhandedly. “I’m not good at much, but I’ll take this sun.”

“You’re good at a lot.” His voice comes out a little too sharp, defensive. As if it were someone else insulting her, and not just her being self-deprecating and humble. 

Another shrug, even more lazy. “Thanks.”

“I’ve heard your papers. You’ve helped me with essays.”

“What about you? You can build anything from nothing, you know computers, you interned with Tony Stark. Impressive resume, Parker.”

It’s Peter’s turn to be sheepish. “I still prefer hearing the words you write.”

Another winning smile and Peter has to be floating at this point. “What’s with the praise?”

_I’m enamored by you. I want you to see me as who I am. I want you to know who I really am. I want to make you smile and laugh and I want to kiss you until I’m drunk and can’t think straight. I want you to turn me inside out and still want to be around me_. “Trying out this new thing called ‘being nice’.”

[Name] jostles his shoulder, nearly toppling him. “You knew what I meant. You’re the sweetest, but I just...I was just wondering.”

“I’m the sweetest?”

“Obviously. I’ll say, this is a nice change of pace from us calling each other nerds all the time.”

Peter chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

“I could get used to you saying nice things about me, Parker.” The look she gives him is teasing and—is he losing my mind, or is she being a little…provocative? The low brow, tilting smirk? 

Flutters in the pit of his stomach. “Likewise.”

She skates in front of him and grasps both his hands, catching him by surprise but not disliking it. She has a way of doing all the things he wishes he was brave enough to do. It’s nice. 

“You feeling more steady?”

_Not at all._ “Yeah. Getting used to it. Gradually.”

“You’re getting the hang of it. And I’m enjoying this. It’s all so pretty.”

He stares hard at her as her head tips back, the Christmas lights shimmering in her eyes. The pink sweater she’s wearing looks so soft and he wants to dip his hands beneath the fabric and grip her warm waist, feel the firmness of her body there. “It is,” says Peter. “I love Christmastime.”

“It’s magical. It makes me feel like a kid again. Don’t get me wrong, growing up and getting to do more stuff is preferable, but sometimes I wish I could have no worries and just have fun like when I was little.”

“Same. I wish it was both.”

She nods. “But it is nice being older.”

It’s Frank Sinatra accompanying them now. The low comfort of his voice lulls Peter into calmness, reminds him of Ned’s words. He’s taking this too seriously. Even if she doesn’t like him back, Peter just wants her in his life. He just wants to keep being the reason she laughs. 

“Are you OK?”

“Huh?” asks Peter, broken from his reverie. 

“You drifted off for a second.”

“Just thinking.” He adds a shrug to look more relaxed. “That’s all.”

“Oh boy. Peter and thinking? That’s a dangerous combo.”

“Ha, ha.”

She reels herself in by his hands until he’s a breath away. Peter feels a rush in his ears as he stares into her eyes. The tip of her nose is red. “What were you thinking about?”

Peter presses his lips together until his teeth ache with the force. _Nothing_ , he wants to say. _Nothing at all. Just something stupid and normal and really lame so that you won’t ask more questions_. But then he really takes her in: snowflakes in the flutter of her eyelashes, her chapstick-covered mouth that smells like candy canes, the furry pompom on her beanie. She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and she’s standing in front of him, and he’s gonna let that go to waste? “You.”

An eyebrow skillfully arches. “Me? Good things, I hope.” There’s a touch of red in her cheeks now, and he knows it isn’t the cold’s doing. 

“Only good. I think about you a lot.” Peter hesitates. “That sounds a lot creepier out loud.”

[Name] laughs. “No, it doesn’t. I think about you, too.”

“Yeah?”

They’ve stopped moving, he realizes. She’s stopped them in a corner away from everyone else. A pocket of stillness. 

“Definitely. I told you you’re the sweetest.”

“...Mhm.”

[Name] snorts, her nose wrinkling. _God._ “Are you nervous, Peter?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard his name in her mouth before, but he falls in love with the sound of it. Somewhere below his stomach, he twitches. “A little. A lot, actually.”

“Don’t be. Although I’m flattered.”

“I’m sorry, I just...I want this to go well.”

“Who said it isn’t? I’m with you. I’m having fun.”

“Are you? Even though you’ve been holding me up all night?”

She smiles. “I don’t see a problem with that. Can I ask you a question?”

Peter thinks he’d kill a man if she asked him to right now. “Of course.”

“Can I kiss you, Peter?”

It’s such a decidedly obvious, stupid question, that all Peter can do is gape and blink like a fish out of water. “I—you—uh—“ He’s soundlng idiotic, of course, but it’s taking longer than it should for his mouth to catch up to his brain, which is screaming, _Yes, please! If you wouldn’t mind!_

She punches his cheek, a little self-conscious but masking it well. “You can say no—“

“No! Wait!—I meant, yes, you can. You can kiss me. I’d like that. Very much—“

“Parker.”

“I’ll stop talking, I promise.”

That brings a guffawed laugh out of her that seems to surprise even herself. She touches a hand to the side of his face, and Peter had no idea that a thumb brushing over his skin could make him burn up, New York winter weather be damned. The touch is soft and romantic and he just crumbles as she leans forward and presses her lips to his. It’s an innocent, thoughtless kiss, but it blows Peter’s mind how long he’s went denying himself this pleasure just because he was scared of her. Scared of someone who has never been anything but kind to him. 

They break apart and he’s grinning foolishly, but he doesn’t care. He’s happy. “Can I—can we—“

“You can kiss me as much as you’d like, Peter.”

He’s already leaning in before she can finish the sentence. _I wish I could tell Uncle Ben about her_. “I might just take you up on that.” And he kisses her again. And again. And again. Because he just can’t help himself. 


End file.
